Hands
by JenLea
Summary: After being blinded, Randy realizes just how much his sense of touch and his wife's hands mean to him, as she goes through a miracle pregnancy. RANDYxTRISH


Hands

Disclaimer: I own no one!

A/N- My first fic of 2006! This is a weird concept I got from one of my older fics. Thanks to KazzaXtreme for helping me.

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_Give them the strength to hold on during the storms of stress and the dark of disillusionment. Keep them tender and gentle as they nurture each other in their wondrous love._

-The Hands of the Bride and Groom, wedding ceremony

I never noticed my wife's hands until she told me she was pregnant for the fourth time.

She held me while I cried. Yes, I'll admit I cried. Few people know of the hell we have gone through to have a child.

Endless tests, hormone shots, doctors telling us that they couldn't seem to find a reason why we couldn't conceive, and struggling to beat the odds for what we wanted.

"Randy, this will be the one that survives," she told me. Worse than the treatments were the miscarriages. She had had three miscarriages, each one more devastating than the last.

"Trish, I know you're right," I said, squeezing her hand. Her hands were my biggest source of comfort.

A freak accident had blinded me not long after our marriage. I could see the brightest of light but nothing more. Her hands guided me through the darkness; her mere presence was bright enough that even I could see her emotions.

Months passed. She grew larger, something that made her happy. As she put it, it meant she was having a healthy baby and that was all she wanted.

"Randy?" she asked, breaking the silence. Rolling over, I faced her. Groping around, I managed to find her hand.

"Trish?" I murmured, moving my other hand to her face. Her cheeks were wet. Why was she crying? "Why are you crying?"

"The baby just kicked," she said. Moving my hand from her cheek, I gently eased my hand around the curve of her belly.

"Wow," I said. "No more tears, Baby Girl,"

"They were tears of joy!" she insisted. I knew that was true and yet, I hated seeing her cry under any circumstance.

Before I lost my sight, Trish had had her first miscarriage. She spent days locked in our bedroom, crying. I was unable to help her.

Then, I was blinded. Only Trish knows what really happened. It bothers me to speak of it. I don't want pity. I'm the same man I was before the accident.

Lost in the darkness of my eyes, I fell into a deep depression. Nobody or nothing could pull me out. My dad tried. My mom tried.

Only Trish succeeded.

She led me out of the darkness. She showed me that even blind, I was still myself. She refused to let anyone baby me.

She was my savior.

"I wish you could feel it," she murmured. "Especially since-Never mind,"

I knew what she was going to say. When you're blind, your other senses sharpen. The things I can hear amaze me.

_Especially since you can't see the baby._

I lay awake, thinking about what she had said. Tears filled my eyes. I wanted nothing more but to see her and especially, our baby.

"Don't cry," she murmured, gripping my hand. Her soft hands comforted me.

I've learned you can tell a lot about a person by the way their hands are. The lotion they use, what they do for a living, it's all in their hands.

At her next doctor's appointment, I sat there quietly, absorbing the atmosphere. The smothering disinfectant, the light scent of latex, it all surrounded me.

"Let's find the baby's heartbeat," her obstetrician said. I wondered if he was tall. He sounded tall.

"Listen," she murmured, gripping my hand.

_Whoosh, Whoosh, Whoosh…_

Our baby's heart…

We created this life, out of pure love. Our baby wouldn't be taken for granted. Losing the other babies had shown us anything could happen.

"You're measuring well," the doctor said. Trish squeezed my hand. I squeezed it back. "See me in two weeks. Everything's great,"

I liked being home, more than I liked being out. When I was home, I was free. I knew where everything was. I didn't have to worry about killing myself on a rock. Trish had also made it 'blind-friendly'.

"Oh, she kicked," Trish squealed. "Want to feel?" Before I could answer, she seized my hand and gently placed it on her bare belly. "Did you feel it?"

I had felt it. The soft jab brought tears to my eyes. Our baby was moving. I was stunned.

"How do you know it's a girl?" I asked, knowing we'd chosen not to find out at our last sonogram.

"Mommy's intuition," she said. "Our Miracle,"

_Miracle…_

I couldn't help but think that was the perfect name. A name had to mean something. It couldn't be just anything and our baby, boy or girl, was a miracle.

Our miracle was born on a cold snowy January afternoon. I'll never forget it.

"Push!" the doctor exclaimed. She whimpered softly. The disinfectant was beginning to choke me. I also couldn't shake off the metallic scent of blood.

Being blind had its disadvantages, other than being unable to see.

"It's a girl!" the doctor exclaimed. I squeezed Trish's hand. Why wasn't she crying?

Then, I heard it.

A sharp intake of breath and a loud wail, our baby was crying. Our baby was crying…

"Does she have a name?" the doctor asked. I nodded slowly.

"Yes, Miracle Rose," I murmured. "Where is she?" Trish took my hand.

"Right here," she murmured, placing my hand on the baby's back. Gently, I ran my hand over my daughter. Finding her hand, I gently ran my index finger over her palm. I was stunned when she squeezed it.

"Hi, Mira," Trish cooed. I sat beside her, afraid to move. I didn't know the layout of the room, and I could seriously injure myself. "Randy, hold her,"

"I'd l-l-like to," I stuttered, "But I'm afraid I'll drop her," Now that she was here, I was afraid I couldn't be a good dad because I was blind.

My doubts scared me. Trish had never let me feel sorry for myself. Now, we had to worry about a baby.

"You won't drop her," Trish murmured, shaking her head. "Hold your arms out." Reluctantly, I did. As she laid the baby in my arms, I tightly gripped her.

The warm flannel blanket tickled my fingertips. I could smell the faintest hint of laundry soap. I could feel my baby squirming.

"Hi, Mira," I cooed, smitten beyond words. "I'm your daddy,"

"You're going to be a great dad," Trish said, running her hand along my cheek. "Your hands will guide her through it all, even if your eyes can't see,"

My hands would comfort skinned knees, dry tears from broken hearts but most of all; nurture the greatest gift we had ever received.

It had taken a tiny Miracle to show me what was in front of me all along.

As long as I had my wife and her loving hands, I would survive in the world.

THE END 


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